


Lambantly

by Original_Cypher



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, allusions to BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over this past decade, I've had moments during which so much energy seems to be running through my veins that it might drive me mad. In time, I have pieced together the cause and the ways to 'cool down', if you will.</p>
<p>Today. It was writing about those.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>See notes at the end for more warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lambantly

**Author's Note:**

> These are the musings of a restless mind at a specific moment in time. Something had to give.

I wanna bite something.

Champing at the bit. Literally.

Ugh. Only not. Because there's nobody here t-...

Like an animal. Pacing. Back. And forth. Itching for something.

I am this close to gnawing on the first thing I get my hands on. Bored out of my skull. I can't focus on anything. My mind keeps bouncing all over the place. It's like ADHD on steroids, it's-...

Wait a minute.

Hold the phone.

What day is it?

 

Oh, marvelous.

 

Makes sense.

I should have known.

Now that I've realized it, I can feel it crawling under my skin. It's unmistakable, this feeling.

It's a rush, the sensation of power crackling on the inside, waiting to lash out. Waiting for my teeth to sink into something. Waiting for the drag of my nails to break the skin.

Still. It's uncomfortable. I can't sit still. I want to run and scream and claw at the walls.

But I don't.

I blink slowly and I crack my neck.

On the inside I'm howling.

Five days ahead and it's already this bad?

Damn.

Waxing moon.

Hm... Waxing.

My eyes track to the lighter. If only I had someone to play with.

 

Someone to pin down. Someone to yank closer. Someone to unwrap.

Latex to run my hands on. Vinyl to make my tongue stud squeak on. Drag on.

Other things I can do with that.

 

I want to mouth at her stomach until she begs for me to go lower.

I want to clamp my teeth on the nape of his neck until he whines.

 

I want to hear the crack of a whip.

I want the flickering, orange hue of a fireplace.

I want fur to press my face into. Feline eyes to stand watch while human bodies coalesce.

 

Press my mouth and nose behind her ear and praise her like a divinity.

Sink my hands into his hair and tug until the peaceful smile breaks across his face like dawn.

 

In the impossibility of actually going to the place that eats at the ruckus under my skin, that shines fuel into my veins, I travel there with my mind.

 

Outside, the night fell hours ago. The lone street lamp in the street behind the walls and the tree line provides a yellow counter point to the frozen hue of the moonlight making lace out of clouds.

I walk across the cold stone tiles bare footed. A chill running up my calves and raising goose bumps on my shoulders, racing down my arms. The discomfort is unpleasant, but worth it when climbing, cat like, on the massive wood beam that fronts the hearth.

With the crouch, the tie slips, and the robe falls open. There, I perch, on my tip toes, the flames heating my cheek, my thigh, my knee. My feet.

One last look out the bay window.

Who else would be up at this time? Only the neighboring cats.

The hair at the nape of my neck drip a little. Couldn't quite avoid it in the shower. I shiver, grin to myself as droplets of water roll down my spine.

I hear a quiet huff.

Someone is disproving of my stealing his spot. Nose turned up, Aziraphale sits, staring pointedly. Bright blue eyes accusing. His tails flicks annoyingly, once. Like his mistress' crop, in another world. Don't worry my angel, I'll go sleep eventually.

As a peace offering, I slip the robe completely off, let it fall in front of him. Here. Have some sinfully fluffy garment for a while. It has my sent. It wins him over. Works every time.

This is the best part. In the glow of the fire, my skin looks beautiful to me. I can't not feel perfect.

Silently, I lay on the old beam. Time has polished it. The deep cracks speak to me. O wise oak, you're still my home.

I bask in the refulgence.

I am careful to keep my elbow in, away from the burning stones of the hearth. Predictably, it ends up curled, cushioning my head as I stare into the flames. This oak, too, is my home. It brings me warmth. I can feel it try to reach out for my skin.

I turn my head back and close my eyes. My arm falls to the side, my hand seeking out the familiar I can feel is there.

I lay, bare, scratching lightly at Aziraphale's chin, sunning myself in the fire's glow.

I do not know which of us is purring.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In this work, there are very light allusions to sexual foreplay and bdsm practices. If this might upset you, move along. That's not what I want.  
> Also, since, somehow, it still seems to need to be mentionned: bdsm implies consent. Always. Or else it is called torture.


End file.
